"Ay, but," replied Henry, emboldened by her smiles, "methinks now
the good cause of peace would thrive all the better for an advocate.
Suppose, for example, that, when I am pressed and urged to lay
hand on my weapon, I could have cause to recollect that there was
a gentle and guardian angel at home, whose image would seem to
whisper, 'Henry, do no violence; it is my hand which you crimson
with blood. Henry, rush upon no idle danger; it is my breast which
you expose to injury;' such thoughts would do more to restrain my
mood than if every monk in Perth should cry, 'Hold thy hand, on
pain of bell, book, and candle.'"

"If such a warning as could be given by the voice of sisterly
affection can have weight in the debate," said Catharine, "do think
that, in striking, you empurple this hand, that in receiving wounds
you harm this heart."

The smith took courage at the sincerely affectionate tone in which
these words were delivered.

"And wherefore not stretch your regard a degree beyond these cold
limits? Why, since you are so kind and generous as to own some
interest in the poor ignorant sinner before you, should you not
at once adopt him as your scholar and your husband? Your father
desires it, the town expects it, glovers and smiths are preparing
their rejoicings, and you, only you, whose words are so fair and
so kind, you will not give your consent."

"Henry," said Catharine, in a low and tremulous voice, "believe me
I should hold it my duty to comply with my father's commands, were
there not obstacles invincible to the match which he proposes."